Officer Bernard Kohn was on the force for nine years. He loved his job and delighted in helping people. He was also showing signs of depression that other officers had picked up on. But, there was the unspoken Code of Silence and that bought him freedom from being reported as needing help. Instead of having his weapon taken from him while he worked things out, he developed a nervous tick whereby he would play with his 9 millimeter like you and I would twirl a pencil in our fingers. One person dared to confront him - his sixteen year old niece, Christine. During the course of their discussion, Officer Kohn's head was ripped through by a bullet. He was buried several days later while his niece looked on in guilt and confusion. He'd promised her he was safe. Hello, my name is Max Kohn. Officer Kohn was my little brother. His niece lives next door to me and is still afraid to be alone in her home. The officers who knew my brother was depressed slowly came forward in the days following his death. Other people also came to tell us that he had been playing with his weapon too much. So why didn't anyone say anything before Bernie was dead? Would you? Bernard Kohn, was a nine year veteran of the Cook County Sheriff's Department of Corrections until he accidentally shot himself to death at the age of 33. Accidents like this are constantly happening, especially to police officers who are under a lot of stress. That's why I'm here. Here's Christine's story as to what happened: I wrote my uncle a letter stating what I thought he was doing wrong. I thought someone had to get something in that brain of his. I thought that person was me. So in the letter I stated that the gun was not a toy. Well at the end of the three page letter I said he was not my uncle anymore and he could not even call or visit. Well from my understanding I struck a nerve. I finally got through to him. He called the day he got the letter and told me to explain. I did just that, He asked if I really wanted him to not be my uncle anymore? I said that's true. He said fine if that's you want it this way you got it and hung up the phone. I did not hear from him for three days. On the fourth day July 19th he came over after work. He came in the house and woke me up after talking to my mom for a while. He said he thought I really was angry, and did not mean it by him not being my uncle anymore. Little that I knew it would be the last time talking to him. Well he said I was right by the gun not being a toy and pulled the gun out and saying the gun was not a toy and put it back in the holster. We kept on talking and for some strange reason he pulled the gun out a second time. Well he said the gun was not a toy but at the end of the sentence the gun went off. My mom called out Bernie and no response. After the time the shot rang out I jumped up and said over and over again "I killed him." My mom said I did not kill him it was just an accident. It was no one's fault. I did not believe it, I wrote him the letter not her. Then we saw blood coming from somewhere. My mom called 911 and said that a person got shot but did not know where. They said turn his head, and tell me. She turned his head and saw it was from his head. We found out after he got taken to the hospital that he had cop-killer bullets in his gun which meant he had no brain after the bullet entered his head. My sister, Edith, and niece, Christine, were both watching when Bernie's gun discharged. Edith is teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown, living life as if it were a battle to be fought instead of a gift to be enjoyed. She is in intensive counseling. My niece is also struggling with what she saw and relives it in her mind almost daily. Quite a load for a girl not yet out of high school. It wasn't much of a surprise when she decided to start drinking to hide from the memories. I wonder if she'll be able to stop? I can't even begin to describe my father's hell. First he lost his wife of 37 years and before the healing could begin, had to bury his son. No parent should have to watch his child be lowered into the ground. The entire family structure has been ripped apart and now must be recreated into a new entity. Bernie had a beautiful wife, too. They had their hopes and dreams just as any couple does. Patty's dreams died with Bernie. She guards his grave and alienates people now. She doesn't know what else to do. The impact of Bernie's death has slithered out into the community now. We hadn't realized the full impact of his life until it was lost. Upon his death, his wife got letters from inmates telling her how he helped them turn their lives around. He wasn't out to save the world, but he certainly was going to do his best to help the person who needed it. Bernie showed faith in people - often when no one else did. Taking the time to let them know he believed in them gave them the power to believe in themselves. That's quite an extraordinary feat. Bernard went through the academy some nine years ago. He had a thorough understanding of various kinds of weaponry including guns of all kinds; he could easily take one apart and put it back together. He got so overconfident that he started to believe he could ignore certain gun safety rules and get away with it. For the longest time, he did, but as is usually the case, it eventually caught up with him. And us. What safety rules am I talking about? 1) Never take a gun out unless you or someone else is in extreme danger and there is no other option; unless you plan to clean it, or you are on the range preparing to practice with it. If you plan to clean it, unload it. If you plan to protect yourself or someone else, be prepared to do it. Also be prepared for the after effects and be certain that you can live with them. 2) When you remove the gun and holster from your belt at home, put a trigger lock on it and then lock the gun in a strong, locked box that no one else can get to. Make sure you tell everyone in the family not to touch the gun. It's not a toy. You don't want to come home to find one of your children lying on the floor in a pool of blood. That guilt would be incomprehensible. Secure the gun so that no one but you has the key to the trigger lock and the gunbox. 3) Never let ANYONE play with the gun, even you. It is not a toy. It's made to kill. Once a gun is fired, there is no taking the bullet back. It's not TV. Someone who has been shot doesn't get back on their feet the next week. 4) If you absolutely must demonstrate something concerning the gun, remove ALL bullets. In the case of an automatic, take the one out of the barrel and for a pistol, leave the chamber open. There's something else about gun safety. You will learn about the Code of Silence - all officers do. But when you're deciding how far to take that, remember my brother. You are responsible for your fellow officer. You are trained to watch out for each other and your partners - your lives can depend on each other. If someone had nudged aside the urge to keep quiet, I probably wouldn't be standing here talking to you. Watch for signs of depression. I learned that my brother was severely depressed for two weeks prior to his death and that the only place he showed it was on the job. Several of his fellow officers noticed it and did nothing because they wouldn't break the code. Did they really help Bernie? I'm sure they didn't want to take a chance of costing him his job and in the end, he paid a steeper price. To hell with the code of silence! Get him help or find out what YOU can do to help by going to your EAP counselor. Since Bernard's death, the family as a whole has been trying to find a way to accept what has happened so we can move forward. I've done quite well with this but yet many things crop up daily that remind me that there are permanent holes in my life. I've been helping other people with grief and in doing so, helping myself. I've tried to put some meaning to his otherwise meaningless and needless death. It's still hard to believe he's gone. After his wake, there was a place on the cemetery grounds for final prayers, then there was a luncheon. After that, my family and I returned to the cemetery grounds and found my brother's final resting place. I looked down into the hole and saw the coffin had been placed inside. A little later, I watched as the bulldozer came by and dumped dirt onto my little brother's coffin. The pain watching this caused was so all-consuming I can't describe it. It emphasized he wasn't coming back. A little later, they dumped some clay on him, then yet another vehicle came by to pound it all down. You cannot imagine what that's like watching them pour dirt then clay onto the coffin of a loved one. If I've done anything at all, I hope it's to make you all realize that after tomorrow, each and every one of your loved ones have to worry about getting the phone call no one wants...that you're dead. Keep this in mind and try to keep focused on safety rules so that you won't end up one of the hundreds of tragic stories that occurred due to a temporary lapse of judgment.